That Guileful Smile
by MidnightxMirror
Summary: When led on his first interesting mission that month, he had no idea that Trish was involved in some way. He knew that she loved screwing with him; Was she finally rebelling, or was this for the hell of it? Two-shot
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Devil May Cry.**

Seating herself on the large wooden desk, she threw a leather-clad leg over the other. Tapping her foot like she was listening to music, but hinting at impatience, she stole multiple glances at the clock. The heavy silence and time's echo were beginning to drive her crazy.

**Tick. . . **

_Where could he be?_

**Tick. . . **

_Probably licking out those damn sundaes..._

**Tick. . . **

_If he doesn't get back here right now..._

**Tick. . . **

A sharp shaped eye twitched as she considered pulling out a gun. That would seem to fix all of her problems at the moment, wouldn't it? Yes, just one carefully aimed shot. . .

. . . On second thought, it would probably be best that she left her trigger happy hands at her sides. Demons have surprisingly been rather tame this month, and how would she explain to her red-loving comrade that she had destroyed his clock?

"_Yeah, the ticking was driving me up a wall, even though it was probably just you. I shattered the glass into a million pieces all over your floor and sent a nice hole through whatever was left hanging. When I am waiting, this is what happens._"

Blowing the thin blonde bangs from her face, she leaned back further on her hands. She could just picture him giving her a lecture on patience.

Lovely. The last thing she needed.

And it wouldn't just be a normal lecture, oh no, it would be spoken to her in the simplest words of the English language. Not to mention that God-awful tone he would use. The one that you would use to scold a toddler. When she'd snap and tell him she wasn't a kid, he'd demand that she should stop acting like one.

Yeah, well, she has a better shot than a six year old.

Most arguements would end to something of that extent. There would always be a winner, and things would grow silent. That is, after everyone had gotten the last word(s) in. Though words weren't Trish's forte, actions certainly were.

When the male bounty hunter had wandered off to his own devices, she'd set up multiple traps around the shop. He would always hop over the obvious ones, but find himself in a tangled mess on his floor from the ones he didn't anticipate. Though it was fun, it didn't always work out. Like when a customer had decided to walk in right after she was done...Let's just say they didn't return any time soon.

Actually, that was fun too.

A gentle sigh escaping her pink lips, she looked around the shop. She didn't need to from knowing the place as well as her partner's favorite food, but it was something to do. Let's check if everything is in order, hmm?

Turning her head, her glance fell behind her to his simple wooden chair. With a ritual-like predictability, after every mission he'd plop down in that same chair, throw his feet over the desk, and lean backwards until the back of the chair hit the wall. Every time. He'd usually have some kind of magazine with him, too. The kind that Lady often teased him about dressing in drag.

Dante in a dress... she'd have to do that sometime.

Her pale blue eyes scanned the floor. A light layer of dust covered the concrete floor, to which would be cleaned soon enough. Not by her, of course. With the holsters for her dual weapons just below her hips, he knew better.

No, the floors (and entire shop, mind you) would be cleaned by a little, pink bundle of joy named Patty. She was basically tricked into being a domestic slave. The older woman usually disappeared before that conversation came up, and Dante would either be out, or dirtying the floor.

Pick one.

Sometimes Dante would enjoy tossing pizza boxes on the floor. You know, for the hell of it. When Patty deemed the place unfit to live in and a hazard to potential customers, she'd clean it herself. But one of the good thing about the ebony-and-ivory wielder was that he would make it up to her somehow.

Speaking of the other blue-eyed person, she was asleep in one of the two rooms upstairs. Thank Sparda. Had she come down and decided to ask Trish to play dress-up with her or something, she'd willingly stare down the barrel of her own guns. However, if she wanted to give the place another remodelling, she'd be completely fine with that. Seeing Dante trip over all manners of stuffed animals was amusing, to say the least.

But Trish didn't just want Dante to trip. He wasn't getting away that easy. She'd want one of those heavy black boots to fly off and out the nearest window.

Too distracted with the dreams of Dante falling over teddy bears, she failed to notice the door creak open, the mid morning sunlight pooling across the floor.

A tall, tanned and handsome figure walked through the door. He slammed the door to take away the glazing from her sky-blue eyes. Once he fully had her attention, he flexed.

"Miss me, babe?"

'Babe' was her nickname. 'Blondie' didn't work since Patty was blonde, too. Babe is usually used as a form of endearment, but he used it because she was interesting to look at. He often did when she wasn't looking.

Trish saw the unconcious lump of flesh behind him. "You've brought a gift? You shouldn't have."

"I did. This one's up for interrogation with a new murder that occured. Offering good pay to get an answer, too. He should be waking up any moment now... Watch and learn."

It was often a game they had. Always trying to prove themselves. Always trying to one-up the other. An endless stream of challenges serving the purpose to belittle the other.

Dante threw the unconcious man over his shoulder like he was nothing more than a blanket. Taking a few steps to his immediate left, he layed him down on a deep, pine green couch. Out of the two smaller chairs of the same colour flanking the longest one, he took a seat in one. He kept the remote to the tv behind him at his side incase the victim would attempt to use it as a form of weapon. Such precations were pointless, of course, but it would spare him a bump on the head, however many times he laughed at it.

Trish slid off of the desk. Instead of sitting on the other chair with sunlight illuminating her features as well as the other two men in that area, she thought she'd try something a bit more devious. She casually sauntered over to the chair behind the desk, threw herself down on it, and swung her legs over the top. She was sure to lean back and point the heels of her boots at her companion, a clear challenge. He offered a glare.

The soft groan and slight movements of the captured man's arms drew his stare. Lids gently lifted open, obsidian eyes were exposed to the sunlight, quickly shutting again against the glare of the sun. The man would have normally undone the buttons to his suit, but quickly pushed the notion away. Though it was warm, he didn't forget he was a prisoner. . .

. . .for now.

The man was gently tanned, and had a brown beard. It looked like a four-day stubble. The man was rather chubby, and a double chin was evident. He looked to be in his mid thirties. Age was useless for demons, but useful for humans. That was a fact Dante often went over with himself. The only thing that really occured to him was how fragile they are.

"Who... who are you? ...Nevermind, that's not important. What do you want to know?" A deep and raspy voice had mumbled that. Trish raised a curved eyebrow. This man seemed ready to forsake whatever secrecy he had previously had in exchange for his life. Not even a fight. How boring.

"Well, your in Devil May Cry, my shop. Try not to break anything." He said that last part while shooting a sideways glance twords his blonde partner. The look did not go unnoticed.

The name gained no recognition from the self-important man, so it obviously didn't ring any bells. Dante almost didnt seem bothered. Almost.

"I'd like to know about the murder early this morning. Tell me any details your aware of, and you're free to go."

Without killing something, simple interrogations made him feel like a cop. Dante wasn't interested in rules and regulations, so he purposely looked for them to break them. The only problem to that was, since he owned his own business, he made his own rules. And it's just not fun breaking your own rules, is it?

"I recall working my shift through the night, and was getting ready to go home by two a.m. Right as my things were packed up in my office, the alarms suddenly went off. I had rushed to check the cameras for the persons appearance. There was nothing. It was like they were a ghost. Before anyone even saw them, they were gone. Police were over in minutes searching the building, and found footprints across the burgundy carpet. The footprints were made of blood. When the rooms were searched, it was confirmed the head of the corporation was murdered."

Nothing too different. Dante had heard this before. Many times.

"So... what makes you think a demon did this?"

"Remember I just talked about footprints of blood?"

White hair bobbed in a nod.

"They led to the middle of the hallway and simply disappeared. The hallway was narrow, and had no doors. It's like they just... evaporated."

Dante's mouth curled into a grin. Now things were getting interesting.

"Alright. I need the adress so I can visit this corporation."

The man seemed a bit on edge about telling the other male about the location of his work. He knew well that once he was there, he would have full access to cameras, files, and whatever else the building had to offer, wether anyone liked it or not. Normally the police would be entitled to this right, but Dante wasn't technically considered official. The man hesitantly gave Dante the adress.

He checked his surroundings. He saw a shapely blonde woman in all black attire; black boots, black leather pants, and a corset that showed off her thin stomach. It also left her figure nothing to the imagination. He guessed that this individual was as accentric as his interrogator.

He cleared his throat, rather loudly. It was a good excuse to avoid the amused look from the woman, not unlike that of a cat.

"Your wife?"

Dante was quite surprised by that question. "What?"

"That woman behind us. Is she your wife?"

He shook his head. "No...my partner. She will be assisting me when we give the building a look over."

An impish smile played with the corner of her lips as she observed. She had sat out throughout the duration of the questioning, so why couldn't she have some fun?

"Ignore my _husband._ He's just shy."

Dante gave her a look that could only be decoded as the simple phrase: Shut up.

That was all the encouragement she needed.

She strutted over to the pair, the grin still on her mouth and a devlish twinkle in her eyes.

She stood beside Dante and wrapped her arms around his shoulder.

"Isn't that right, honey?"

All Dante could do was grunt through clenched teeth. What did she think she was doing? She was not about to embaress him infront of a man he had just met, and under rather odd circumstances at that.

He wrapped an arm around her slender waist.

"Of course, love."

He was as good at seduction as the next. He thought he would give it a shot.

He entangled his fingers through his "wife's" left hand. "Say dear, wheres your wedding ring?"

She gave him a subtle scowl. "Oh, I had left it in our room. I didn't want to break it with our mission today."

His teasing smirk only grew as Trish coquettishly wrapped a stand of blonde hair around a finger.

"Well, why don't you go get it? It looks so lovely on you."

She resisted the urge to laugh. She loved how she was never without a challenge. She said a simple "sure" before slowly making her way up the stairs. Trish was sure to add a bit more swing to her hips, the intention to catch the eye of the man in the red leather coat. She didn't care if the other man looked; all the better. A wonderful excuse to make Dante jealous, no?

Her long mane disappeared through the second door. Dante knew she wasn't coming out any time soon, and ushered the man out with a "thanks." As soon as the tell-tale click of the door was heard, she played rabbit and poked her head out. He motioned her back down for the fear of having to deal with two female troublemakers.

Deciding to follow orders this time, she stood infront of him and looked him right in his blue eyes, clearly unafraid.

Laughter was ringing through his voice.

"Want to explain?"

"I was just sitting there. You know desk jobs aren't for me. I need something to do."

"You could have said something any moment."

"That one was the most opportune."

"I didn't know you were so desperate to have an illusionary ring on your hand."

"It worked if it put THE son of Sparda at a loss for words, if only for a moment."

And fuck him running, it did.

But a moment was all she had on him. That was fine for her.

"I know you drool over me all the time, but we have to catch a demon that appears to be an early riser. Come on."

Carefully not to disturb Patty's slumber, the two exited the warm shop.

The autumn breeze was crisp. Though it was sunny and warm, it seemed like that would change soon enough. Storm clouds were drawing nearer. That was fine though, as rain didn't bother the two.

Trish wrapped her arms around him after they were securely mounted on his motorcycle. The corporation loomed above smaller houses, like a shadow in the distance.

Dante was excited to track down an interesting sounding adversary, while Trish could only grin.

Her blonde hair shimmered in the waning sunlight, blowing a trail of tresses as gold as coins behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Devil May Cry. **

Dante's motorcycle pulled up in the parking lot behind the building. If he got caught by cops, they would never let him in. Cops tend to not believe you when you claim to be a demon hunter.

Trish walked behind Dante, her high heels clicking on the pavement. The sound produced was hollow, the opposite of the anxiety that toyed with her emotions. Pinching herself and biting her cheeks was all she could do to stop from quivering. Of all the thoughts relentlessly racing through her head at a break-neck speed, one stood out the most; one which she was wise to keep to herself.

With each of Dante's steps, red coat whipping about, her emotions heightened a little more.

She was normally a very composed woman, and lucky. Lucky that he hadn't caught her yet, grinning like a school girl who had passed a difficult test. And indeed she had.

Never before had a mission sent so much adrenaline through her body, and never before had the crunching of tiny stones beneath heavy black boots have the same numbing effect as Ketamine. Trish was thankful that Dante didn't turn around.

Stepping into the building, Dante had to admit that it had an airy feel about it. The air breathed was light, but had a slight chill to it; unwelcoming to a degree. The empty hallways made the echos of his footsteps seem louder tenfold. The building made it seem like gravity was not on his side, judging by how his body felt heavier in the fragile atmosphere.

By the time he had finished climbing all the stairs and walked all the way to the previous bosses room, he could guess why the building felt the way it did.

Looking into the room, with blood spattered everywhere, he could almost picture this man in his final moments. He hadn't seen the body, so he pictured a man in his late forties, thin, and always dressed in a suit. Had trim hair, facial especially. No beard, but a small mustache.

When he closed his eyes and tried to focus, he could almost smell the fear emitted by the room. Going on the fact that his blood was mainly on the walls, he had guessed the man had curled himself into the wall as a weak defence before being shot. He could tell the man was shot from the fact that, though blood had squirted everywhere, it wasn't all pooled in one specific place.

Looking over the room, besides the dry and now rust-coloured blood, nothing was out of order. This man was very organized, probably bordering on a perfectionist.

Walking over and kneeling closer to the figure the blood outlined, he sensed the desperation as the seconds of the man's life ticked away. Still fancing the wall the victim was huddled against, he saw a hole. Scratching at it with his finger, he moved enough planking from the wall to remove a bullet.

The bullet shone with the metal it was designed with, but mostly tainted with dried blood. Turning it over in his hand, Dante felt that this particular bullet was light, which meant it was efficient at getting to it's target quickly. Anything flying at you quick enough could pierce flesh with relative ease, but varying with the distance.

Analyzing the hole in the wall further, he saw the bullet was lodged in there not too far. If it was only in a small amount, that meant the murderer was standing close to him at the moment of death. Without the momentum to propell it, naturally it wouldn't get far.

Judging by how far the bullet had gotten, he estimated the killer was about five feet away. That would explain how they managed to get blood on themselves, at the same time not being detected by the spinning cameras.

Stealing another glance at the bullet, he vaguely recognized it. Like he had seen it somewhere before. If that was true, how come it was so hard remembering the gun it came from?

Getting back to his feet, he turned to his right and saw Trish leaning against the dark oak desk, watching him. He was surprised she had not gotten splinters. Holding his hand out, Trish cupped her paler hand under his. The bullet in her grip, she gave it her attention. Indeed, she had seen the bullet before too, but did not know the weapon it came from.

Offering her partner a frustrated exhale, she handed it back.

Dante was beginning to grasp the futility of this situation. Other than the bullet, there was no other evidence. In the time it took Trish to inspect the bullet and deduct that she had no clue to the caliber of the gun, plus ten minutes more, there was nothing else. No hair, no bits of cloths, no fingerprints, nothing.

It was becoming clear to Dante that whoever the killer was, they were clearly intent on not getting caught.

Realizing the otherwise immaculate murder scene, he concluded that the murderer was playing games with any who would come looking for them. With how carefully they treated the situation, the bullet was probably left as bait.

That, and the footprints.

Stealing a glance at Trish, she gave a chuckle. It wasn't hard to guess that she was enjoying the game as much as he was.

Following the trail of footprints, he was careful not to step on them, though in reality it really didn't matter.

Wether it was for how long down countless winding hallways that started to look the same to him or going insane, he did not know, but he was beginning to think the footprints seemed familiar. Kneeling down and flinching as his leather clothes crunched at the effort, he examined the footprints.

Their killer was clearly female. The shoe size and shape was clear to fit a woman than a man could ever manage his feet in them without sending his own blood in the boots like a puddle. With that thought, he continued and stopped where the tracks did. Looking down at them closer, Dante saw that the impressions of the blood in the carpet were deep; whoever had left these was taking slow and measured steps. Being very careful for whatever reason.

The man he had interviewed hours earlier was absolutely right. The tracks stopped dead. Turning to Trish, she surveyed the area.

There were no doors in this hallway. Not one going the entire length, and looking up at the ceiling, there were no pipes. That cut off the possibility of their attacker climbing her way out and getting fingerprints.

It was also highly unlikely that the killer had crawled, because blood would have easily dripped from all of the movement, or at times their shoe would rub against the carpet, leaving smudges of blood.

Dante sighed. The situation was pretty hopeless. The demon had managed to slip out of anyones grasp and portal itself, probably back to hell.

Dante had a few questions though; why had the killer gone down the main hallway? And if it was a demon, why were they wearing boots? Killing a woman to take her shoes seemed odd, but possible.

He answered his own thought in his head. Probably because they came in through the back entrance, and exiting could happen since, though there were spinning cameras, there were only a few. There were probably less cameras down that hall since more people walked in it, assuming that someone would see an event rather than not.

Looks like that wasn't such a smart idea after all.

Dante and Trish left through the back door, the same way they had entered, and rode off twords another, fancier building. All with avoiding the notice of the police.

Entering a large home that looked more like a three-floored hotel, the duo knocked once on a near door inside the house and entered, The room was basically an office, and the bounty hunters were compelled to take the two seats with his back facing them. He spinned around.

An aging man looked at them with interest. His face was wirnkled, and grey hairs dyed his beard by the day.

"What have you for me?"

Dante cleared his throat, and Trish looked sideways at Dante.

"Well, the owner of the corporation was killed by a gun, roughly from five feet away. From what gun is unknown. I inspected the footprints and found out that the killer was female. They are as smart as they are playful. They left the bullet as a game. The woman must also have been heavyset because of how deep the footprints were."

The man behind the desk laughed. He really gave a hearty laugh like that was the funniest thing he had heard in awhile.

"Great detective work."

Said man had hardly thought it good work since he didn't bring anyone back but Trish, but decided on keeping his mouth shut. But... either way, a job was a job. That payed.

The next thing to happen, however, he could have only hoped on.

"With the information you have gathered, you have brought the police a lot closer than they ever would have been without you. Congratulations."

A light clap was heard, before the gentleman had nudged a newly produced suitcase over the desk.

"The job was simply to gain a better understanding of the situation. You have earned your pay."

The suitcase looked to be buldging. Dante didn't plan to let Lady see this anytime soon.

God knows how many wads she would rob him of this time.

The white-haired hunter had muttered a quick thank you before leaving with Trish. He was understandably in a big rush to return home.

Throwing the door of Devil May Cry open at roughly eight at night, the first thing he layed eyes on was the large black phone that rested on his desk.

Handing the suitcase over to Trish, he immediately walked for the phone. Eyes never leaving anywhere else, he dialed a number he knew all too well.

A look of contentment crossed his face as he dropped himself in the wooden chair. _His_ chair. With a pizza on the way. Trish did a good job of walking straight for the room behind his desk. His bedroom.

She wasn't surprised to see clothes littered here and there. It wasn't messy, but it wasn't clean. It was . . . lived in. Homely. Her fingers worked nimbly to pop open the locks to the case. She took a few bills from it before locking it again and hiding it under the sheets of his bed.

She stopped a moment after that. It was, in a strange way, comforting to her to somewhat smell his cologne on the sheets of his bed. She liked that smell. She had known it nowhere else. A hard knock on the front door brought her back to reality.

Walking out of the room, closing the door with her foot, and advancing to the front door before Dante could get out of the chair, she wordlessly payed the young man delivering their pizza and softly closed the door.

Placing the warm cardboard box on Dante's desk, she took a seat on the desk next to him and watched him open the lid. She took a slice as soon as he did.

Watching Dante calm himself and struggle with the stringy cheese, a smile slowly grew on her face. Noticing this, Dante turned his head twords her.

"Yes?"

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?"

He furrowed his white eyebrows.

"Trish..." he warned her. He wasn't in the mood for more games.

Chuckling louder and throwing her arms in the air, blonde hair swayed around her with the effort as she lowered her arms once more.

"I killed the man."

Dante almost choked on his own saliva. The place went dead silent.

"What was your reasoning for that?"

Though Dante didn't want to admit it, the case now made more sense to him than ever. The bullets looked so familiar to him because they were from her guns. The reason the footprints randomly stopped is because she had teleported herself out of there, and probably back to where they were sitting now. She had a keen eye, so he wasn't too surprised that she had managed to avoid the cameras.

"He was starting to have his eye on you."

Dante raised his eyebrow a second time. "Oh?"

"You were in a lot of debt to him, and I was bored. That's why I killed him. After he was out of the way, I hacked into his computer and deleted any files he had on you so the employee who takes his place won't resume his hunt."

That was...surprisingly thoughtful.

But of course. She had only left a trace of her being there by the one thing he had forgotten about; the computer. It probably wouldn't have mattered since he wouldn't doubt the fact that she could have used gloves, but either way he felt a bit angry with himself...

...until his mind gave him a question.

"Who's prints did those belong to, since those shoes didn't match your heels?"

"I wanted to throw you off. I had stolen Lady's boots while she was at that botique again, and had returned them to her home after to make things interesting. Whoops."

He knew she wasn't too sorry, but that didn't bother him. They had always had feuds over who would be the most fashionable, so Trish loved always being one step ahead.

Granted, that investigation would throw her back a bit once they found out it was her, if they ever did.

The room filled with a chorus of laughter, male and female alike.

Dante flicked at Trish's arm, and she looked him in the eyes once he had her attention.

"Hmm?"

"I owe you thanks."

Trish playfully swatted at him. She remembered the reference as well as he did.

"Should I welcome you or slap you?"

Dante clearly refused to be slapped. His expression alone told her that, so she figured he opted for the first choice.

Too bad she didn't feel like it.

"Maybe later."

He knew that was the closest to an appology that he was going to get from her. He had become rather used to it over the years. Types like her preferred action to words anyway.

Acting accordingly, he tugged on her arm to send her off balance and leaning down. She didn't argue, so he leaned even closer.

When Trish could feel his breath like warm caresses, she wanted to close the last bit of space between them, but never got the chance.

"Whee!"

She was awake, and sugar-high. The two adults were less than pleased.

Hearing her aimlessly running around the living room and adventually stopping on the couch, she brought the tv to life and distracted herself with her soap operas, still bouncing a bit in her seat.

Dante didn't really care to move away, so he closed the rest of the space.


End file.
